The sun moved most of the way
across the sky
as we traveled back from Richmond.
Our voices will
stay stuck in my head as we sang
choreographed
lights colored
our hands clasped,
Hoping nothing would ever save us from this.
If anyone ever tried to see it from the outside they’d likely be too distracted of the volume of my voice
to know that you’re
shoulders are just as red
as any, and rarely unoccupied
But also my hand
will wait there, as we walk through crowds, so
I never lose you
,as we left, under the marquee.
The wind whipping
through the car as you slept while my hand rubbed your head
is the everything of everything
that I have ever had.